Harry Potter His Ginny, Her Ron.

Title: His Ginny, Her Ron   
Author: Altricial (altricial@livejournal.com)   
Rating: PG   
Pairing: Ron/Ginny   
Category: Slight incest in fairytale style   
Year: 1992 (Chamber of Secrets)   
Dedicated to: Aspen for being my shipmate, durendal for beta-reading the first part and missbreed for doing the thingy with me 

* * *

He was only five when he learnt what it was to have loved and lost. 

He had a special friend, you see. A friend named Boo. 

Boo was round and soft and the colour of maple leaves. Yes, indeed, Boo was a puffskein but not just any puffskein; Boo was his and he loved Boo very much. 

Some might say, Boo was just another pet, but he knew they were wrong. For they hear not of the stories he whispers into fuzzy ears, nor do they see the tears on a blue moon, soaking golden fur (_big boys do cry when they are sad, too,_ he said to Boo). 

Or the little games they play late at night. 

He would pretend to be asleep (_hush now, little one_, said his mother as she tucked them both in), with Boo clutched close to his heart, and waited for a long, pink tongue to tickle its way up his chin, up his nose. Like a child in bed on Christmas Eve, hoping to catch a glimpse of a fairy tale in the fireplace. Only, he was never disappointed; no, Boo could never disappoint him so. 

For the little puffskein loved him, too. 

Boo would snake its tongue out and reach for his Ron in the dark, and a freckled grin would curl softly on the face of a happy boy awake past his bedtime. Then a, "Boo!" and the game was over, boyish chuckles and contented humming echoed through the nights. 

Love was simple then, life was good. 

Then Boo was killed, one quiet Autumn night. And he didn't know what to do. 

His brother, Fred, wanted to be a Beater for a Quidditch team, a dangerous game the older wizards like to play. Fred used Boo as a Bludger and that was how Boo died that day, because cruelty often hides behind a smiley face. 

It was past his bedtime and Boo was nowhere in sight. So he padded around the house as quietly (but pretty fast for feet that small and bare, mind you) and found Boo lying in the garden all alone. Boo wasn't moving. Was Boo asleep? Was Boo cold? Did Boo not love him no more? 

He ran to Boo and picked Boo up in his tiny, shaky hands. Red. Golden fur and dripping red. Boo remembered to say goodbye to his Ron with a weak wave of its tongue before Boo hummed the last drop of his life away. 

Wake up, Boo! Come back and play with Ron, he yelled and yelled, but no one heard. Boo was no more and he was all alone. He didn't cry, even though he missed his Boo so. Not a tear from his broken heart. Brave boys don't cry, he said to himself, because brave boys grow up to become knights. Boo would understand. 

And he scooped his best friend up from the ground of autumn leaves; his pyjamas now a crimson red, and said a last goodbye to Boo in his room. He felt older than he was yesterday but he was still afraid of the dark. 

So, off to the next bedroom he went and into a smaller bed he climbed. Move over, Gin, he whispered, and hugged the baby girl close to his heart. He cried in his sleep that night, holding the girl with hair the colour of maple leaves; the princess to his knight. 

~ 

He was only twelve when he learnt what it was to have a love lost returned. 

He has a sister, you see. A sister named Ginny and he loves her very much. 

But an evil monster stole her away from him one Autumn night. 

She didn't even put up a fight, for she couldn't have known (_he knew_); she was only a child – she shouldn't have to know, that Evil often hides behind a face of a friend... 

Evil listened to her stories of a time long gone (_hush now, little one,_ Evil had said to her as Evil came to live through her); a time of tea parties, of hide-and-seeks, of imaginary friends with names like Pigwidgeon and Soblessa, only the special ones could see. Evil listened to her tales of woe, yes, Evil knew of that day her pet chick had gone away and how her brother had held her and kissed her till she smiled again... Evil listened to her dreams; portraits of yellow ribbons and finger paint– _Dear Tom, I want to be an artist some day,_ she wrote; and so – 

Evil took his sister by the hand and drew paintings on the wall. Drawings of danger, reeking of death, painted in red as red as the blood of chickens Evil taught her how to kill. A snap and then another. Feathers and- no, she will never forget their screams. What will Mummy say when she sees her hands are no longer clean? 

Evil never stopped to dry her tears. 

_There are things we have to do_, Evil had plans; and she led a giant snake, chasing spiders out of her way. The spiders had fled and people could have died. Big bad snake with eyes that slay and now they lay on their hospital beds unblinking for days, a look of horror frozen in a silent scream. What will her brother say if he knew she'd scared all the spiders away? 

Will he ruffle her hair and beam with pride? Will his eyes widen in fright (_Gin, don't go roaming around at night!_)? Will he make her take a bath to wash the dirt from her knees (the floor of the Chamber, they are very dusty)? Will he still love her if she can never get them clean? She thought she would never know. Bounded and broken at the feet of Evil, she thought she was going to die that way. 

Then the hero came to save the day. Some midget named Harry, you might have heard of him; eyes as green as pickled toad and a scar that saved us all. Evil was defeated and his princess rescued. Somehow or another or perhaps a shooting star, she found her way back to him, princess to his knight. And that was exactly how the story of should be. 

That was the day he learnt, what it was to have a love lost returned. 

So, off to the hospital wing he went, with the cloak of invisibility he borrowed from a friend, and into her bed he climbed. "Move over, Gin," he had said as he slipped in next to her and pieced the broken back together. 

He had her all to himself and he asked her how she was. He asked her question after question- Did he hurt you? Did he mess up your hair? Did he touch you in places only I had been? Did you hear me calling for you every night? He asked till he could breathe no more, he asked till it hurt in places that had never hurt before, he asked till he broke down and whispered a sorry into her hair. "Please don't cry, Ron," came her only reply. 

"Don't you ever do that again," he said when he could speak again and he held her close to him to make up for the nights they lost. Then she said, "Thank you," and nothing more. He asked, "What for?" and felt very sad, because he knew what she'd say and so he muttered into her skin, "It was Harry who saved you, thank him instead." Who was he to compete with the boy who can talk to snakes? 

But he was wrong and she told him so, "No, I knew you'd get me out of there and so I stayed alive and waited for you." And she told him about the part of herself she'd surrendered to Evil and she told him Evil had a name as simple as Tom. 

He clenched his fist but didn't say a word and listened as she told him about the morning she'd woken up with blood and feathers on her hands, in her hair, on her lips. Gritted his teeth and bore with it, he listened as she told him where her knees have been- on the dirty, grey floor of a chamber down below. 

And she told him how it was like to know she was losing her mind slowly and yet always knowing that all she had to do was wait. "And I was right, you came for me," she had said and then she cried and cried and he cried. 

A few minutes and a soaked pillow later, they shared a kiss to erase the other and he laughed a little because, "This is all Percy's fault, you know? If he hadn't shooed you away the other day, you'd have told me about the diary, wouldn't you?" She giggled and nodded, her hair the colour of autumn brushing against dried tears on her brother's freckled grin; but she didn't want to talk anymore, because she had missed her Ron so and he had missed his Ginny, too. 

There are many ways to say "I love you" and some of them may be wrong, some of them may not be for them, and some of them will never be written into love songs, but they'd worry about it tomorrow. And, well- 

Nobody had to know what happened that night but he was only a child when he learnt about the happy ever after that exists only in fairy tales. 


End file.

Harry Potter, Angst, Romance